


The ever-changing tide

by Sann



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dimension Travel, Gen, Magic - Freeform, Ninja, Rebuilding, Survival, Wizards, deserted island
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2018-04-01 09:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4014733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sann/pseuds/Sann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tampering with portkeys can have devastating results. Three champions, one reluctant hero and a stand filled with students from three different magical schools find themselves stranded in the crumbling remains of a once-great island nation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [esama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Island of Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3236603) by [esama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama). 



No one knew the how or the why, all they knew was that whatever had happened had gone spectacularly wrong. The moment Harry and Cedric had reached for the trophy the impossible had happened. No one knew why only the student stand had been taken alongside the champions, perhaps the other stand were warded with more care or maybe, just maybe, this was all the result of the worst luck ever.

Waking up on a beach overlooking an endless blue ocean however was not what anyone expected. There was confusion and fear, so much fear. The younger years cried for their parents, their friends, their homes and warm beds and comfortable food. The older ones tried to keep it together, to look like they had the problem under control. They didn’t. That first day was marked by crying and fighting and unanswered questions. But the island was big and bountiful, groups went out into the sparse forest inland and came back bearing familiar fruits and tales of the ruins of a great city.

That first day ended with people munching on the snacks they brought with them to witness the third task as well as the fruit, which was shared amongst everyone after some debate, and waiting for someone to rescue us. The Durmstrang students filled the sky with fire, the boys and girls from Beauxbatons shot up sparks and transfigured rocks into little lanterns to let loose in the wind. The second day was spent much the same, lounging on the beach and casting aguamenti to soothe thirsty throats when needed. The third was not much different from the second except more stomachs grumbled and growled and the sun and heat stopped having their previous appeal.

The fourth day would be marked as the start of our new life here.

* * *

Saviour. Hero. Boy-Who-Lived. Freak. Pothead. Harry had been called many names over the years, each one as unwelcome as the other. But people had always had expectations of him, be they good or bad, simply because they thought they knew him. They had seen him walk off to a shady spot under a few of the nearest trees with the other three champions as well as some other students from all three schools. They sat and talked in whispers, would point and argue and stand and scream before quieting down again. At around noon on the third day they got up, brushed the sand off their robes and moved to the centre of the beach.

A wand tapped a throat and a spell was whispered. “Can I have everyone’s attention please?”

The sound crushed all ambient noise, leaving a disquieting silence in its wake. People sat up straighter and heads were turned. No one uttered a word.

“We have spent the last few days waiting for some to rescue us, but up till now we have not seen any signs of a rescue. We haven’t even seen signs of other people, only ruins. For all we know no one knows we’re here and we’re stuck.

Voices sounded up at once, angry yells of denial and scared accusations thrown around. A few young girls clung to each other, tears welling up in their eyes. A pause, minutes long, and silence descended much more slowly.

“And if we are that means we have to survive here, on this island, until we can rescue ourselves. We’re not surviving right now, we’re not even doing anything,” Harry pointed at Viktor and the group of equally burly boys from Durmstrang that had gathered behind him. “Viktor and his classmates have scouted a bit of the island and it’s big. But that’s not the most important thing that he’s found, no, that would be the recourses. This island has it all, food, material to build shelter and it has us. And we have magic.”

_Magic_. People glanced at their wands, the thing they had always taken for granted. They could turn a mouse into a teapot and a cushion into a hedgehog. They could make fruit dance and fire burn forever. Was it cold? Cast a heating charm. Did it rain? Make your clothes waterproof. Change your clothes with a flick of your wand and heal broken bones with a twirl. _Magic_.

“It took four people to build Hogwarts,” Harry continued, glancing at the crowd, “ _one_ of the three greatest magical schools in the entire world. We have almost three-hundred. Three-hundred students of the finest schools in existence. We can’t keep waiting, chances are it will take a long time if we are even ever rescued at all. So we have to band together and start getting things done, and we can.

He cleared his throat, shuffled his feet in the sand and whatever aura of leadership had hung around him seemed to deflate. The Boy-Who-Lived was gone, the mythical about him turned mundane. In front of two-hundred-and-eighty odd wizards and witches stood Harry Potter, fourteen-year-old and utterly unimpressive.

It was Viktor Krum who stepped forward, turned his eagle-eyed gaze on the crowd and spoke. He didn’t a spell to make his voice carry over the wide beach, he spoke and people listened. Even with his broken English he was heard and understood. But he didn’t contradict, didn’t offer the words the others so desperately wanted to hear. He bolstered and enforced, plastering cracks before they could bring walls down. He showed support.

After Viktor had finished his own little speech Harry went forward again. Shoulders steeled and spine straightened, he had something he lacked mere minutes ago. Something bold, something brave. Something unforgiving and demanding and fearsomely ruthless.

“Some of you don’t like me, I know that, but I can’t change that. But this,” arms spread out wide and gestured at the sand and the sea and the desolation that hung about the island like a blanket. “This is serious. There are no teachers here to help us or adults to hold our hand. I didn’t ask for this any more than you did, I am just as unhappy and angry and scared. But tonight I am going to find us food and I’m going to do that tomorrow as well. As long as I need to get us all fed and warm. Do you think I want to have to do that? Because I _don’t_.”

Hissed words, green eyes flashing, fists balled. A breath, deep and calming, and another. The waves crashed on the beach, again and again, and to that background noise Harry continued.

“But I have to. And so do you. I don’t like being the bearer of bad news but we have to get of our arses and start doing something. I don’t mean just a few people, I’m talking about _everyone_.”

* * *

 

Cedric sat on the sand, a circle of roughly twenty others had formed around him. Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors and even some of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students had joined the group. They sat and watched Cedric shine, a bright, guiding star on the horizon that provided wisdom and inspired courage. He was in his element and broadcasted it far and wide for everyone to see.

He ran them through the drills, taught them the spells they’d need to catch fish in the endless ocean surrounding them. It was a position that suited him fine, teaching and organising others, and it showed.

“Bubble-head charms, stunning and summoning,” Cedric surmised, moving through the three spells with practiced ease. “They’re easy, the last two rely mostly on intent. You have want it. You want the fish to come to you, you want to stun it. Watch-”

Feet turned in the sand, shells breaking under soft leather. Smooth, polished wood was held loosely between his fingertips. “Accio Fleur’s hat.

The brilliant blue hat came flying to his outstretched hand not a second later. Its owner came not long after, rolling her eyes and putting her hat back on.

“Do you want for me to ‘ave a sunburn, Cedric,” Fleur huffed, but the curl of her lips was friendly and the sparkle in her eyes honest. She turned and left, hips swaying and blonde hair swishing with each step in the stand.

“See?” Cedric grinned, spread his arms wide and nodded at Fleur’s retreating back. “Intent is key here, so let’s get to work.”

But if Cedric was like a star with his radiance and guiding influence then Harry was the sun. He shone so brightly at times that it burned and people orbited around him like planets pulled into his gravitational sphere. People drifted to and from, asking questions and getting whatever answers Harry could give.

He was like sun, yes, but he was terribly, _terribly_ young.

“Malfoy,” he said, voice tired and hand on his wand. “What do you want?”

Hermione shot him a concerned glance from her own little study group, a haphazard gathering of the best and brightest who wanted to check out the ruins the next day. The smile he shot back was weak, he knew it, and Hermione looked decidedly incredulous but let him be.

Malfoy however, was not just pale, no, he looked ashen. Even behind the sunburn that stained his cheeks and the bridge of his nose an ugly, blotchy red. There were bags beneath his eyes, shoulders sagging and his customary sneer was missing.

“Potter,” his tone was flat, dejected, empty of the arrogance that had filled it before. “I-“

He paused, gritted his teeth and swallowed. “I want to get some people together and start on thinking of how to transfigure shelter. No- not _that_ -“

He paused Harry’s enquiry in its tracks and gestured at the throng of people busy trying to make little shacks. Flashes of bright light and the occasional either joyous or dejected cry marked their slow progress. His lips were downturned and something of the casual arrogance that made Malfoy into _Malfoy_ seemed to slowly trickle back into him.

“-But houses. You said something about Hogwarts in your little speech, and I’m not planning on sleeping in some hovel. I want to build a castle, I know we can. Like you said, there were just four founders and we've got easily fifty times more people. My family has extensive history in transfiguration related to houses and building and I know more than a bit of it. I just need some arithmancers to help with the calculations and some others to help gather the materials and shape the magic but Krum said there was stone. All renovations done to our manor were done by us ourselves, Potter, so I can help. I … I _want_ to help. I’m not stupid. I know there’s been bad blood between us but I want to put that behind us, can we do that? A fresh start.”

Harry’s eyes ran up and down Malfoy’s face, searching for the barest hint of dishonesty. He found none, only embarrassment and fear edged in the lines beneath his eyes. His eyes went to Malfoy’s outstretched hands, the appendage shaking slightly.

He grabbed it tight, shook it once, twice before letting go.

Malfoy’s eyes watched him as intently as he had watched him not seconds before. Assessing, weighing, before his stance relaxed.

“A fresh start,” Harry echoed, nodding. “I like that.”

Eyes had been watching the exchange, children clad in silver-and-green holding their breath. Hands shook and the world trembled, to some it was an earthquake, to others it was a shift of the universe. The dozen first years, huddled together in the shade of the treeline, cast their gaze to their year mates. Their peers, children they had ridiculed and in turn had been ridiculed by. They stood, as one, a wave of green and silver and black making their way to one of the groups centred around a Bouxbatons student teaching the littles ones simple, useful spells.

The older Slytherins were less conspicuous, blending into groups they’d skirted around for hours. Always in pairs, but they mingled with more ease. They smiled and joked as if they’d been there since the start.

“They made you their leader?” it shouldn’t have surprised Harry, not when others had made _him_ their leader, leader of their haphazard gathering of mostly underage witches and wizards from three different magical schools.

Malfoy stopped in his tracks and turned halfway, facing him. His face was unreadable, not a mask, the emotion was merely indistinguishable. He was silent for a moment, eyes shifting and brows drawn together.

“No, merely the messenger.”

* * *

 

“Merlin’s beard,” Hermione swore, taking in the towering structures rising up in front of her.

The ruins were once great but now, even crumbling apart, were no less impressive. They were made of grey stone and most of what remained standing were the remains of high, circular pillars. They had been painted once too, she noted, black swirls and spirals were mostly faded away but still visible. The spirals were everywhere, from the overgrown streets were cobblestones formed spiral patterns to being carved in the trees they’d passed on their way to the ruined remains of what must have been a city.

“Unbelievable,” Cho Chang breathed, “can you feel it?”

She could, they all had to feel it. The air was saturated with power, with intent, this was like the first time she’d entered the grounds of Hogwarts. The air had been cloying there, the atmosphere heavy with something unrecognizable. It was magic. At Hogwarts it had been the build-up of centuries of heavy magical inhabitation, hundreds of magical beings had soaked the air and the grounds with power.

There was a river dividing the ruins in two, cutting through the landscape. It disappeared somewhere between the base of the hills that lined the horizon. The city had been big, once, but the island was easily bigger. Big enough, Hermione reasoned, to live comfortably off.

“Let’s try transfiguring some of it,” Miriam Fellsbury, a seventh year Ravenclaw, ordered. “If the stone lacks magical properties or previous spellwork this could solve our little housing problem. I want those with runes to have a look at the spirals, I don’t think they were purely for decoration. If there is a previous network of runes in place it could prove dangerous.”

“The spiral is vaguely similar to several Egyptian hieroglyphs I know of, though other parts-“ Stanislav, a bulky Durmstrang student who was fluent in six languages and had another four he was currently studying, said. His English was flawless, much unlike Viktor’s. “This here in the centre has a touch of Latin influences, or so it seems, but then the outer layers have a flair is decidedly Northern European.”

They worked in silence for a while, with Hermione joining Stanislav in trying to work out the spirals. Sometimes they found identical ones, but most were different in minute ways. But there was one thing all had in common: they were broken. Not one had undisturbed lines of ink, even the few they found built into the buildings and the street were fragmented or smudged. It was almost as if someone had done it on purpose.

They trekked back to the beach when the sun started its descent back into the ocean, the sky tinged orange and red and pink and dark blue clouds hovering in the distance. Once they were back in the forest, the light from their _lumos_ spilling forth from the tips of their wands, Hermione looked back. The ruins were bathed in shadows, the great pillars and crumbling walls suddenly looked like a graveyard. It held no beauty, looking at it drew forth no awe. It looked as lost and forlorn as they were, the last remains of a civilisation on a desolate island.

* * *

Cedric returned mere minutes after sunset and set foot on a beach that exploded into cheers as soon as they saw him and his team. Harry joined them and smiled broadly when Cedric caught his eyes, the older boy holding up his quarry with a grin. He clapped until his hands tingled and laughed when some broad-shouldered boys and girls hoisted some of the group on their shoulders and carried them around the beach to the waiting bonfires.

Shells and driftwood were transfigured into pots and cutlery, leaves into warm blankets and cushions to sit on. Harry joined in with the cooking group, not knowing any of the spells but perfectly capable of doing it the muggle way. He was flanked by Fred and George, who boxed him in with silly grins and displayed an unexpected ease with household and cooking spells.

“Can’t exactly make good prank candy without being able to actually make it yourself,” a flick of is wand and the fire rose higher, the spoon in the pot stirring the soup inside on its own. “Mum would’ve thrown a fit if she knew why we wanted to learn her spells though, so you’d betty keep mum about it.”

Fred joined in with a solemn nod, mumbling something under his breath that had a heavenly smell waft from their pot. “The trick’s into getting the spell in during the making, you can charm a pastry for sure, that’s easy. The only downside is that charming it makes it wear off after a while or so and you can’t know for sure what the ingredients are. Some magical plants interfere with charms-“

“-and then you might just end up in St. Mungo’s, which, obviously, no one wants.”

The twins rattled on and Harry watched with wide eyes. He’d known they weren’t stupid, but he had never expected this level of sophistication from them.

* * *

They shot of sparks and flames and colour-changing birds and sparkling rocks up into the sky and did anything they could do to attract the attention of, well, anyone. No one came, but the spectacle itself took minds off the gravity of their situation for just a moment. This was an act of desperation, a last bid to try and get off the island. To disprove Harry’s words, to get someone to rescue them despite his claims otherwise.

They huddled together in the haphazard shacks and shelter they made that afternoon and curled up underneath the transfigured blankets. They slept and dreamt of home, of warm beds and good food.

They woke up the next morning still on an abandoned island, still alone. No one even mentioned shooting up more sparks.

They set to work, made new groups and tweaked plans. They needed more than just fish, Justin Finch-Fletchley reasoned, they’d need vegetables as well or risk getting scurvy. Draco took two dozen students with him to try and figure out how to build the promised Hogwarts and tagged along with the group studying the ruins. They worked and strategized and cast spells tirelessly until the heavy atmosphere was broken by Collin Creevey rushing onto the beach.

“Look what I found!” He hollered, almost stumbling over his feet in his hurry to get to Harry and his group. He had something in his hand, something black and smooth and sharp.

Krum lifted it up in the air with a grunted spell, wary of touching the sharp edges himself, and the others crowded around him to watch. It was a knife, but a very odd knife at that. It had a small, circular handle at one end that could maybe hold a finger and a longer, straight grip that flowed into the blade. The blade itself had four sides that met in a sharp point at the end.

It was Luna Lovegood who took a glance at it and shook her head, a waterfall of blonde hair moving along with the motion. She clacked her tongue ruefully and then turned to face Harry.

“I would stay clear of that,” she advised sagely, “it is infested with nargles and we all know what creature is drawn by nargles-“

She leaned in close, voice dropping to but a low, throaty whisper. “ _Heliopaths_.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My last exam is tomorrow, please think of me while I'm crying over my Chemistry exam. That said, I am now of the age of legal alcohol consumption and mature decision making and writing this has not been a mature life decision, especially doing it during my exams. Also, in just two weeks I know whether or not I've graduated *faints* But that leaves me with lots of free time, so hello shiny new laptop and all my other fics, I haven't forgotten you.
> 
> A special thanks to esama for allowing me to write this, esama, you rock! This plot idea bit me and wouldn't let go so I asked for permission and she so graciously said to have at it. I hope I did it justice :)


	2. Chapter Two

True to Malfoy’s word he was indeed very good at building houses.

“It’s not transfiguring them,” he had said, blonde hair sticking to sweaty skin, “transfiguration wears off, obviously, and we want it to stay intact.

He hadn’t offered any more insights and Harry hadn’t pried. He did stay for a while to watch the spectacle though, him and around a dozen others. And a sight it was. They had decided to press closer to the remains of the city, the extra distance away from the beach would keep them safe from whatever storms this place could send. It also meant a plethora of raw building materials, the ruins had mostly been made out of stone. Some of the others had huffed and protested. Going away from the beach also meant going away from the one place people could easily find them and rescue them. Stories about hurricanes, floods and harsh winds with nothing to take shelter behind was what turned them from that idea. So inland they went, to build a home.

Building that home meant tearing down the oddest structures ever seen, odd even to wizards and witches who thought having moving staircases and shifting walls added character to a house.

“The stone itself does actually lack inherent magic,” it was a Durmstrang boy who had explained what little they had figured out about the place. His English was, quite unexpectedly, immaculate. “And though the symbols resemble runes they too lack any properties we are familiar with. According to our spells the entire place has been abandoned for well over two decades, if not more. However interesting it would be to preserve the place and study it further we have come to the conclusion that our situation takes precedence and that utilising the materials to create suitable housing is paramount. Once we are safely situated and secure in our predicament we could perhaps take a closer look at what remains but for now we all recommend focusing on building a sustainable shelter.”

Harry had blinked owlishly for a second. The older boy, Stanislav, sounded like he had swallowed one (of not more) thesauruses but nevertheless Harry did (mostly) understand his words. It was what had brought him here, watching Malfoy and a small army of mostly upper-years and an alarming amount of Beauxbatons students tearing down building with little but a word and a flick of their wands. Huge slabs of stone were levitated by teams of three or four. Every once in a while they would stop and look at the huge sketch made on leaves transfigured into paper (actual paper, not parchment) that showed the floorplan of what looked like a monstrous building.

The sketches done of the outside were, if possible, even more scary. The building looked like it could swallow Hogwarts whole. The design was an unholy mix of over the top Gothic cathedral, classic medieval castle and the dark fortress-lair of a vampire war-lord all turned into one structure.

When asked about it the ‘architects’ had shot him a patronizing smile and told him that true art was often misunderstood, how sticking to one building style was horridly restrictive and to loosen up a little.

* * *

Justin watched what the plot of land that was designated as the ‘go grow some vegetables here’ area. He had Longbottom along with him. The Gryffindor had, apparently, a green thumb. Susan Spore, a seventh-year Hufflepuff and not to be confused with Susan Bones, had taken the lead on the project.

“We’re very lucky,” she declared with her hands on her hips. “That this is blasted island actually has its own plant life because otherwise we would be neck deep in trouble. I want you all to divide into groups of three and I want one sixth-year student or anyone older than that per group because while we haven’t seen any venomous tentacula that doesn’t mean that there aren’t any around. That said, I want you to focus on plants that can be safely consumed by humans. Try to bring the seeds or a cutting or if all else fails you can also bring back the whole bloody plant. If I find out anyone ate anything they were not one-hundred percent sure was safe I will personally tan your hide. In fact, let’s not go around eating any plants at all. Am I understood?”

Nods met her statement.

“Good. If anything happens I want you to send out red sparks, it’s the one spell even our most incompetent Defence teachers could manage so I don’t want anyone saying they don’t know how to cast it.“

A firstie rose his hand in the air nervously.

“No. My first Defence professor was a dysfunctional alcoholic and even she managed to teach us that spell. You’ve had a renowned ex-auror teach it to you and I know he probably made you do it while scaring you to death so you’ll bloody well be able to do it now while comfortably strolling through a forest.”

The boy lowered his hand.

“Any more questions?”

* * *

“Excuse me, Mister Potter-“

The boy who addressed him wore Durmstrang robes and had a bit of an accent that slowed his speech. Bits of rubble were stuck in his hair and he had dust on his robes and face. His eyes however were perfectly clear and more than a little scary.

“Yeah?”  
  
"We are thinking of adding a Chamber of Secrets and according to your schoolmates you have seen the room in person, do you think you could maybe provide us with a detailed sketch? Also, do you think the basilisk was vital to the décor or could it be left out without irreparably crippling the atmosphere?”

* * *

Cedric and his gaggle of first and second years dug a pond on the edge of the ruined city.

“ _Defodius_ ,” he ran them through the pronunciation and the wand movements and his star-struck followers eagerly copied his movements.

In less than fifteen minutes seventeen first and second years and one seventh year had dug a hole roughly the size of half a quidditch pitch. A few dozen aguamenti’s later and they had made a small lake. What followed next was that with the added help of a couple of upper-years they spelled the water to be salt, like the ocean that surrounded them, and then Cedric proclaimed them to be done.

“What are we going to do with it?” a pint-sized Slytherin girl asked.

Cedric shot her a kind smile, eyes crinkling pleasantly, and explained. “We’re going to fill it with fish and those are going to breed and get fat and that way we won’t have to go all the way to the beach as often.”

“So this is for the fish?” she frowned.

A nod answered her questions and the girl’s eyebrows drew closer together.

“Can’t we make ourselves a pool next?”

* * *

It was scary how much was done in just one day. Excessive application of growth-enhancing spells had yielded a field of what would in a day or three be fully mature edible plants and a few of the more common wild variety of vegetables.

“No resistance to any kind of spell at all,” Susan Spore had explained to Harry and Viktor. “Even the most mundane muggle plants have a basic resistance to magic that keeps us from shortening the time needed to grow them to maturity to less than half of the original duration. But this-

Curls flew around when she shook her head in disbelief.

“It’s unnatural, that’s what it is. Three days, we’ll be ready to harvest in _three days_.”

Even more unnerving was what the building crew had managed. In what had once been a town square of sorts now stood a massive entrance hall. It looked decidedly out of place amidst the crumbling buildings that flanked it. Out place and out of time, because the ruins had at least a semblance of modern building techniques but what stood in their midst had the look of, well, an ancient castle already. A couple of large trees had to be felled to provide the wood for the enormous double doors that led to the inside of a long, wide hallway. The windows were simple, were it not for the stained glass they held. A more intricate round window had been built above the doors, the inside of the circle was partitioned and the parts together formed a magnificent, large flower. The stained glass however was the most impressive.

Each petal held glass that was charmed to tell a story. There were small figures huddled together on a beach, shooting lights up in the sky. Then there were images of them performing tasks, catching fish and hunting animals and building a home. The centre of the window was divided into three parts, each holding one third of the crests of Hogwarts, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons.

“Vhere do we sleep?” Viktor had muttered, glancing at the inside that was equally impressive but dreadfully empty.

Draco Malfoy had scoffed. “Inside, it is large enough to hold us all and we’ll conjure beds and blankets like we did before. You can’t just expect us to build dorms and then manage to build an entire castle around it, that would be ridiculous. At this rate we’ll have the ground floor done in, say, a week or two and that includes several sets of dorms.”  
  
“Yes,” a girl from Beauxbatons chimed in, “we are dry and warm and safe inside. Tomorrow we build a kitchen and then a dining hall and then places to sleep. Stop complaining and just enjoy the beauty we created from these ruins.”

They did. After several nights on a beach under haphazard shelter this was a welcome reprieve even if they were technically still sleeping in a building that existed solely of a hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Randomly updating stuff when the mood hits me (and because my 1000+ page book has failed me in providing the information I need to make my homework so I'm doing this instead).
> 
> To those who commented and liked it, thanks a lot! This is for you :)
> 
> Also, water that is safe for human consumption can be conjured with an aguamenti. I think that with magic pretty much anything can be done easily without much of an issue. Also, they took Harry's little speech to heart and are planning to make an actual castle because 'challenge accepted'. So they're not thinking about making individual housing but are actually planning to make a massive Hogwarts-esque castle. No one said magicals were logical ...
> 
> Oh and next on the updating list is Deathless, which I'll finish even if it kills me. In which case I know the exact process of prosecution and a number of reasons for it to get away with my murder. Criminal law, people, is awesome.


	3. Chapter three

Harry wakes up to find a dozen or so people carving runes into rocks spaced evenly around the shore. Over half of them are from Durmstrang and a few of them he recognizes as students from Beauxbatons, only one of them wears a bronze and blue tie that tells him the boy is from Hogwarts.

“We’re warding this place,” the girl he’d been pointed to when he wanted to know just _what_ they were doing, said with a tired grin. “To hell and back, to be precise.”

He raised his eyebrows and glanced at the stones, which were (admittedly) more like regular pebbles one could find on a beach. The only thing unnatural about them was their position.

“My dad lead the team in charge of making Flevoland a completely muggle-free island, back in the day. It got him and his colleagues a few awards and such, their work was pretty innovative for their time.”

“Flevoland?"

“To put it in simple words,” the girl’s voice dropped into faux-mysterious tones, “the biggest _legal_ muggle mindfuck since Atlantis. They know it’s there, they even think they’ve been there on holiday or trips or whatever muggles do but it’s the greatest feat passive legilimency on such a large scale. No muggle has set foot on that island since we raised it from the sea.”

“So you’re saying you are making it impossible for muggles to get on the- _our_ island?”

“Pssh.” She waved a hand around, “do I look like I have a mastery and over fifty years of experience? Give us a few more years and that will be feasible. Right now you’re getting the most overpowered muggle repellent charms in recent history layered in ways that would make my dad _cry_.”

Harry specifically didn’t ask whether her dad would cry in glee or horror. The girl is scary in a good-natured ‘talk circles around you and make you feel your incompetence’ kind of way. He reminded himself to talk to her sometime soon. The glint in her eyes reminded him a bit too much of the one in the ‘architect’s’ eyes and look where that got him.

* * *

 It steel felt weird to think of it as a castle. To think of what had once been a rubble-filled ruin as a proper, daunting building of stone and iron and lots and lots of magic. It had taken less than a month to build something as monstrous as what stood before him then, something as gargantuan.

“It’s very hysterical,” Harry offered, turning to face Mal- _Draco_. “In a good way?”

* * *

 It took them a little less than a calendar month. Less than four weeks for a few dozen teens to accomplish what equal that number of well-trained _professionals_ needed months, if not years, to complete. What they’d built wasn’t a simple terraced house, though, of course it wasn’t. If there was one thing magic taught her it was that wizards never did anything halfway if they could instead do it in the most outrageous fashion instead. Case in point, their new home.

An unholy mix of, from what her decidedly untrained eye could discern, styles ranging from Romanesque to neo-Gothic and French-baroque with a little dash of old-fashioned pragmatism in the form of an actual moat thrown in.

Hermione couldn’t do anything other than _love_ it. This was magic at its best, magic at its worst, and she fell inexplicably more and more in love with every twisting turn it made. This was a library of knowledge not found on the pages of centuries old books but instead heard in a boy two years her junior on his way to fetch more wood. This was watching people she’d never even spoken to before do something with spells she’d always taken for granted and slotted away for one single specific use that she’d never considered before.

This was breaking all the laws of physics and nature and bloody common-sense when they lifted the earth and shaped it to their will. This was Beauxbatons students casually sending away the gathering clouds because why _let_ it rain? This was Dormstrang students soothing a crying Hufflepuff and taking up the task of teaching the younger years a rather scary ensemble of skills.

She thought of _home_ and saw the faces of Harry, of Ron, and the dozens of new friends they’ve made over the weeks. Her heart ached for the home she shared with her parents, and always would. She thought of home and _smiled_. She was home.

* * *

The pool was in idea offered up by one of Cedric’s little fishermen, a second year Gryffindor called Willem. Once word reached the ones in charge of designing the castle it had been taken so far out of context it wasn’t even normal anymore. It was a pool alright, an indoor one with a stained glass ceiling and such an intricate mosaic on the floor they had to warn people not to look for too long lest they drown. Several smaller pools lined a wall that had been taken straight out of the prefect’s bathroom, according to Cedric, too many golden faucets to count shone from the polished stone backdrop.

Willem Bigby loved it, they all did.

* * *

Neville found the skeletons two days after they celebrated the completion of their new castle.

Viktor said nothing from where he stood, partly hidden in the shade, and for a long time it was silent. Too silent.

It turned out there was a spell to find out the age of things and it worked not only on obscure artefacts but on human bones too. They had all died at the same time, the exact same amount of years ago. They went with the most and least developed remains and calculated the time. They didn’t like the numbers. Seven years old, eleven years, sixteen, four, three _weeks_ old.  
  
More of the peculiar weapons were found in great amounts. They littered the ground, were stuck and half grown into ancient trees. Some still stuck in the bodies of their victims, cause of death clear as day.

* * *

“It’s written in the stars,” Luna hummed from her perch on a cushioned windowsill. “A message as steady as the seasons.”

“What is?” Ginny asked, looking up from the pile of pebbles she was transfiguring into more pots and pans, a commodity they always seemed to not have enough of.

Long, golden hair fell in front of her face like a curtain. Luna kept silent for a good long while, Ginny content to let her. She knew better than to push her friend. Knew it like the sea knew to follow the ques of the moon. Push and pull, ebb and flood.

“They’ll come, always, a swarm of Blibbering Humdingers out for blood. Their brains are muddled, they think they can see out of their great eyes but they are blind. Their heads are filled with so much nargles it makes them so silly they-“  
  
Ginny looked up from her work. “They what?”

“Oh, nothing. I thought I heard a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.”

* * *

They caught sight of the fishing boat the very next day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still alive and kicking! If kicking with one leg because one knee is out of the running for a while for no discernable reason. 
> 
> I swear I am going to update Deathless sometime soon, as soon as I get this last exam done because then I'll have finished my first year of Law School and finally be free of school for a few weeks. So for now you'll have to make do with this :)
> 
> And thanks for all the lovely comments, they kept my spirits up when international and european law tried to bore me to death <3


	4. Chapter Four

Neville liked the New Hall best. It was the only name all three schools could agree on, all of them wanting to name it in honour of their own. But Durmstrang and Beauxbatons would no more accept the Great Hall’ than Hogwarts and Durmstrang wanted it to be called ‘la galerie ensoleillée’ as the French had taken to calling their dining room back home. Durmstrang had offered something with a lot of sounds few could replicate that did sound quite awe-inspiring but was still shot down.

The New Hall it was. New to all three groups of students, new as the island -the _world_ \- was new.

It was even a proper dining hall. It had chairs and tables, of course, two long tables on either side of the hall. That way, one of the Beauxbatons students that had taken charge of the interior had said, we will have to mingle. His reasoning was sound; they couldn’t be as divided as they were back at home. They had to stand together. Had to work together. Eat, sleep, _live_ together.

But what made him favour it over all of the other, increasingly more impressive, rooms they built was the centrepiece. The roof. It was nothing like Hogwarts’ enchanted ceiling, nothing like what he told was at either Durmstrang or Beauxbatons. It was something unique, something truly unparalleled. Something to mark this as _theirs_. The ceiling was made up of arches that formed the framework for a true masterpiece. Stained glass in all the colours of the world caught the light and turned it into living art on its way down. They had unanimously decided to make this one depict a story too, a story told in wizarding communities from all corners of the world: the making of the stars.

Galaxies spanned the length and width of the ceiling, curving around the cluster of unidentifiable robed figures with their glass wands raised to the make-belief sky. It was the most impressive piece of magic in the entire castle. It had taken a group of forty to enchant it to their exact standards. The constellations were as accurate as one could make them and the moon grew from a sliver of a crescent to a fat full circle, all of it moving slowly around the centre as they did in the actual heavens.

Some saw Merlin and his disciples. Others thought them to be the gods of old. Neville liked to think they were figures of a not so distant past. He saw Harry, and Susan and Ginny and Jacques and Hermione and Anton, and maybe, _maybe_ he also saw himself.

* * *

Meetings were held in the courtyard. First it was just him, his fellow champions and some older years who had stepped up once the initial chaos subsided. The group had grown steadily as they found jobs and things to do and questions to be answered. More people wanted a say, wanted to contribute, wanted to be _heard_.

“We’re all students, Harry,” Hermione had insisted, “some are older and some are younger. Some are prefects and others spent more time in detention than they did in actual class, but we are all the same here. We’re all stuck. I think we should all get a say because of that.”

“And how are we going to manage that?” Harry asked with a frown. “I mean, look at us.”

He needn’t have said. His friend wore the grim, determined expression that told him she knew exactly how many of them there were and how difficult het idea would be to realise. He cast a glance at Viktor, whose expression was as unreadable as ever despite the arm slung around Hermione’s waist.

“Everyone gets a say. We’re going back to the basic idea of a democracy. We won’t elect people to speak for us, we’ll do it ourselves. The rule of the people.”

That’s how Harry found himself as one of twenty-two members of ‘the council’ that presided over the massive, bi-monthly meetings they held. He was chosen first, along with Viktor, Fleur and Cedric. They were the easiest to pick, a big, magical goblet had after all selected them to be the best and brightest the schools had to offer, or so those that actually picked them had reasoned. Harry dutifully did not point out he had strong suspicions that his inclusion in the entire tournament was more about someone trying to kill him than him being ‘the best and brightest’ of Hogwarts.

The groups of people with separate tasks were next. Susan Spore was pushed forward on account of her leading everything that had anything to do with plants. Fred and George insisted on sharing one spot as the representatives of the ‘department of delectable delicacies’. Every cluster picked their own choice for the council. In the end, most of them were from the upper years but for one member. Little Jennifer Jones was a first year Hufflepuff chosen by the handful of people trying to raise animals. Both her parents had a successful Cerberus-breeding farm, he was told, and ‘Jenny the animal whisperer’ did not whisper them into compliance as much as use such colourful language at such a loud volume a Norwegian Ridgeback would have fainted from upon hearing.

* * *

They wrote their laws on big slabs of stone erected just behind the spot the council sat during meetings. Dean was told it was a reference to the first even codification of law, which had been in Rome some centuries ago. It had something to do with twelve tables, or some such. He didn’t really care.

He was just the one they picked to engrave them.

They weren’t even supposed to be laws as much as they started out as rules. Almost as if they were still at school. Just things they should never do that they wrote down on big stones thay could have been stolen straight from stonehenge because they wanted to make a funny jab at history.

‘No unforgivables’ as the first on they agreed on, until a lanky sixth-year Ravenclaw pointed out the obvious.

“What if we are ever attacked?”

Harry stood firm, he didn’t want them at all. Quite a few shared his beliefs, though not all. In the end they amended it to ‘No unforgivables unless there is truly no other option and we are in grave and imminent danger of harm, and even then we will never cast it on one of our people.’ They stopped being rules then, Dean thought, this kind of thing wasn’t as simple as a rule.

They came up with more, enough to fill the twelve slabs of rough-hewn stone. It was a nice contrast, the canvas rough and raw with the edges and smooth curves only nature could make as the backdrop for his careful calligraphy that turned strings of words into _law_.

He hoped they’d never have to break the first one, the big, the unforgiveable one. He never wanted to think of it. But you don’t always what you want. Not here.

* * *

They caught sight of the ship just past noon, when the second shift of fishermen had gone to the beach to catch something for dinner. Their ponds for breeding fish were working well, but animals as a whole were more resistant to any magical interference with their growth and that carried over to this world as well. So progress was slow, but it was progress nevertheless.

The ship was small and made of wood and it had a sail rather than a motor. It was also filled with people. Weird people. Weird people who were looking _straight at them_.

“That’s impossible,” Cedric breathed. “They shouldn’t be able to see us.”

 One of the people aboard the boat waved.

“Bloody hell.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lalala-law school has finally helped me write something. I loved my history of law period, it was amazing, it covered the law of the twelve tables (and all following and actual codifications) and it was pure awesomeness for a history fan like me. Also, the 'laws' the characters came up with are obviously not rock-solid, they're supposed to be a little 'bad'. Hell, even I can't write 'solid' laws because I'm only in my first year.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for the lovely comments once again! You guys are amazing :)
> 
> //Edit//  
> Yes, the code of Hammurabi was the earliest known codification, as noted by an observant reader, but I deliberately ommited that. I doubt anyone without an interest/history in law would know it (not even Hermione) while the twelve tables would be relatively more well known to a society where the majority of spells are based off of latin so they would think it was the first.
> 
> People focus on where they come from/relate to. I can tell you my own country's history, but Russia's? Nope. I can tell you the historic evolution of my country's legal system (which begins with the twelve tables) but not China's. So would a minor from an european country know the earliest codifcation came from present day Iraq? 
> 
> That's my reasoning for the statement! Hope it clears it up :)
> 
> (Btw even them knowing of the twelve tables is stretching it a bit, but hey, how realistic is magic?)


	5. Chapter Five

It was Colin Creevey who, with the omniculars he’d carried with him from back when they’d been transported to wherever-this-was, first saw it. It being the boat itself, though they could all see it once it got closer and closer, or even the rough outlines of the people inside, because they too were visible to the trained eye. The mere fact that the ship’s outside was made from wood was weird enough, but there still were people that preferred old-fashioned sailing. That wasn’t completely out of the ordinary. But what Colin saw up close, magic enhancing a muggle contraption to fearsome heights, had him freeze.

“Veronique,” he whispered, afraid that the people on the water would hear him if he’d speak up louder. “Would you take a look please?”

Slim hands took the magically-enhanced binoculars from him, and he let out a sigh. Maybe he’d been wrong, maybe what he saw was just some weird fluke. A mirage, brought on by reading too many adventure novels and listening to those stories from the older Durmstrang boys.

“Get Viktor, s'il vous plait.” Her voice bore no argument, it was firm. Her hands, however, clutched the sides of the apparatus held in front of her eyes tightly and shook ever so slightly.

“Veronique?”

“ _Go!_ ”

Colin ran.

* * *

 

Viktor arrived at the beach mere moments later, leading what seemed like a good half of their entire group with him.

“The little ones go back,” he ordered slowly. His pronunciation had improved, though he spoke carefully nevertheless.

It took them another few minutes to herd any third-years and below back into the treeline, urging them to _please get back to the castle_. After a moment’s deliberation they sent a group of elder students after them, to ensure they didn’t linger. Then, with the biggest liabilities out of the picture, they turned their attention to the ship that had cast out its anchor and was slowly bobbing on the waves.

Viktor turned to the one holding the omniculars. “What did you see?”

The Française in question turned to one of her classmates and started sprouting out rapid-fire French.

“Men, women. Some carried swords, others knives and really big rolls of paper or parchment, she’s not sure, and they are wearing what she thinks is armour but I’m not sure because – _impossible, Veronique!_ _Vraiment_? Apologies, because she says there are those that wear a uniform of some sorts but others wear dresses or other casual clothes. Also, some of them have dyed their hair with what she thinks are ugly colours.”

Thierry raised an eyebrow at the venomous hiss coming from Veronique. “An insult to hairdressers from _tout le monde_ , she says.”

“Are they from home?”

Veronique shook her head.

“Do you think that they are dangerous?”

She nodded. “They are carrying muggle weapons, Thierry. Swords and knives. You don’t carry a sword with you on a happy day out at the sea!”

Viktor turned to Cedric, who met his eyes with a worried frown. Words passed between them, unspoken, and the slighter boy turned to face the still growing crowd of teens. The ship had closer by then, too close.

“All in favour of some emergency warding while we figure out what in Merlin’s name we’re going to with this?”

Hands rose up like a wave from the sea of people assembled around them, and he didn’t need to count. He turned back, lifting his wand, and started chanting. Seconds later, dozens of voices joined him.

“Protego Maxima.”

“Fianto Duri.”

“Zashchishchat,” a tall girl whispered, golden light flowing from her wand.

Thierry chanted in unison with a girl whose eyes were the same shade of blue. “Repello Muggletum.”

“Fardrīf,” a boy Cedric recognized from the gardening team intoned, slashing his wand through the air.

Light flowed forth as spells stacked together. The air shimmered with the sheen of protective wards, layer after layer of warm, gentle colours. But behind it, tinted as if seen through sunglasses, the boat bobbed along on the rolling waves.

* * *

 

The courtyard was filled with shouting. It echoed off the stone walls surrounding them, carried high up in the sky and made their ears hurt and ring. It was Fleur who stepped forward, muttered a spell, then put two fingers between her lips. The sound of her whistle carried high and far, a screech as loud as any hag’s, and countless heads turned in her direction. An uneasy silence descended on the group like an over-heavy blanket, smothering and unwelcome and ever-slightly uneasy.

“I have your attention now, yes?” Fleur uttered dryly, raising her eyebrows at the group. “Very well. I want you all to listen first, _s’il vous plait_ , and then we will decide. Collin, Veronique.”

She beckoned the two over to stand with her on the low, stone dais at the front of the grass.

“I, uh-“ Colin wringed his hands together, then swallowed. “I went with the fishing crew and was using my omniculars to just look around a bit, the sea’s really wicked with those whirlpools, when I saw the tip of a sail coming over the horizon. That’s when I saw the ship first, but everyone could see it after a bit, but I saw something up close and I told Veronique.”

The short girl next to him tilted her head down in a curt nod. “He did, and took his omniculars to look for myself. There are people inside that ship and they carry muggle weapons. Swords and knives and other blades. I could not find any wands, and the ship had no engine I could discern.”

“Did we go back in time?” A voice from the crowd called, and with it the silence was ripped away like a band-aid.

“Are we being hunted, is this the muggle inquisition all over again?”

“ _Merde_!”

“We have to obliviate them! It’s the only way!”

It took a while, but one by one the mass of children silenced and looked towards the front of the courtyard. Looked towards the twenty-two of their peers who stood there, silent and pensive and just as out of their depth as they were.

“If they are armed,” Harry began, slowly. Heads turned, and what little whispers were left fell quiet. “I don’t believe they are here for a cup of tea. We’ve raised the wards up even more already, what more can we do to get them away, without hurting them?”

Sinking the ship was shot down as soon as the idea was brought up, hoping the occupants could swim did not equal ‘not hurting them’. And so they also rejected unleashing a kraken, which they did not have, and summoning a storm, which was just as likely to call down a tornado on them if they were not careful.

* * *

The ship made a slow, almost preternaturally tight turn not an hour later before slowly sailing back to where it had come from. Not half an hour later a dozen of students led by Viktor and Cedric set foot on the beach, everything but their heads dripping water onto the hot sand. 

  
Hermione stepped forward, freshly transfigured towel in her hands, and offered it to her broad-shoulder seeker. Their eyes met, hers wide and his grim, and he nodded. Hermione closed hers, then wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

The idea had repulsed her when she’d first read of the practice, had found it barbaric and almost inhumane. But _now_ \- when _she_ had-

She peered around Viktor’s bulk, eyes straying to the ship slowly sailing away, soon to fade from view again. They would remember an island, empty and barren as it had been before they’d arrived, and would feel repulsed by the mere idea of returning. Their minds would war against them, false memories of uneasy feelings and echoing silence that would hopefully repel them and anyone else from venturing this way again.

In her own mind an equally ugly memory sat, not hidden or warped by any spells, of the warnings accompanying the meddling in any person’s mind. The possible side effects, the consequences of errors made in the casting. A mispronunciation, a lapse in attention, a detail missed. Her next breath came out rattling.

Viktor stepped, hands moving to her shoulders, and squeezed gently. Hermione shot a smile back, feeble but brave, but kept her eyes on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm alive, my horse had a bit of a setback lately but we're getting there (albeit slowly), and I'm on track to getting my bachelor degree in law this time next year. Time flies. Sorry this took so long.
> 
> On a more hopeful note, I'm considering crossposting some of my other stuff (which are two worm fics on another platform, if anyone has ever heard of the webserial) to here as well if anyone is interested. I'm trying to do a 'big one' and start updating my work here regularly again, starting with this baby of mine. My inspiration has come back, at last.
> 
> Thank you all for the ongoing love, guys, you all rock <3
> 
> I hope this lives up to the expectations


	6. Chapter six

Dean watched her flit about, her hair a bright beacon amidst varying shades of black, brown and blond. It was hard not to notice her, even if she hadn’t been his girl. She stood out in more than just the general way pretty birds do, because somehow she was more. He’d call her a lioness if it wasn’t so tacky, house pride be damned, and even that would have felt wrong. Even if she’s fierce and bold and everything that at Hogwarts screamed red and gold. She’s just Ginny, his girlfriend of all of two weeks.

He must’ve caught her eye because she smiled, and he raised his hand back in reply with a grin.

She’s good with her wand too, helping out the older years with teaching the younger ones minor hexes and jinxes. Just in case.

He tore his gaze away to eye the tree line, knowing full well that the shore laid some distance behind it. Past the field that would’ve made his great-uncle the botanist eyes boggle. Past the fish breeding pools, the swimming pool with the moving mermaid mural that, despite being capable of movement, wasn’t able to speak. Too advanced magic, the creators had muttered disappointingly. Stuff not taught until apprenticed to a proper master.

Green sparks went up just seconds after his watch (muggle, stainless steel and a going-to-a-posh-boarding-school gift from his grandmum) ticked past the full hour mark. Right on time.

Seamus’ eyes met his from across the designated area they were busy clearing of debris, tearing down structures with teams of witches and wizards at a time to re-use the stone and steel for their own building project. He’d been watching to, and he could see others deliberately turning back to their work.

One hour passed. No changes, no news. No _ships_.

It’d been just a day and a half ago. They were kids, what good were they at a spell he hadn’t even heard about until had been recommended? No one had actual practice, not a one of the party that’d gone out grim-faced. Who knew how long it would last? _If_ it would last? Maybe the bloodthirst maybe-medieval _maybe_ -muggles had already regained their memories somehow (because who knew if they weren’t aliens? He’d watched Star Wars on the telly, who knew what they were? What they _could do_?).

“Oy, Dean! Stop daydreaming!” Seamus called. “Your bird’s doing better than you! 

Cursing under his breath, he focused on the work ahead of him.

* * *

If anyone told Jitske that she’d spent her time walking in a big circle along a carefully calculated path by people with arithmancy skills far exceeding her own, casting wards on top of wards on top of wards on a deserted island, she’d have called them crazy.

(She’d have been more colorful in how she’d manage that, but crazy was pretty much the gist of it)

There’s a colorful group of kids following her lead, some of them older but most years younger than her. They’re layering spells at her command, going where she directs them and using spells she taught them. Spells she was taught sitting on her father’s lap, watching his wand wave through the air with nothing happening. No lights, no sparkles. Just the knowledge that something became a little bit safer, more secure. Hours spent tracing the edges of the wards in her backyard, the taste and feel of them imprinted in her mind.

Trips to the Flevoland Museum, her dad's grinning face smiling up at her from photographs of him and his crew. Then there was reading articles, talking to her _papa_ ’s co-workers. Her life revolved around learning at his feet, to learn is trade, the secrets of his pièce de résistance.

All she’d ever wanted was to trump that, to eclipse his masterwork. He’d be _so proud_.

Now she’s on an island all of her own (shared but _theirs_ , hers, everyone’s) and doing wardwork she didn’t think possible mere months ago. Arguing in English with stubborn British _hogs_ clad in blue and bronze, shouting curses at uppity _Fransozen_ in what little French she knew when they disagreed. Ending up laughing with all of those people at dinner that same night, learning better curses and trading shining bits of knowledge.

Her wand cut through the air in a motion taught to her not by her papa but by an Asian girl from Hogwarts, the once-foreign spell now familiar.

There were no sparkles, no light. No shimmer in the air. Just the feeling that she’d made everyone just a bit safer.

* * *

Harry stared at the behemoth in front of him, standing in the shadows cast by its tall walls. Had the founders ever felt this small, standing in at the foot of Hogwarts? They’d been taller, sure, but had they ever felt that humbled? 

They must have.

“You should have let them build the Chamber of Secrets,” a voice piped up from behind him. He spun around, not quite startled but _alert_ , only to see big blue eyes framed by a golden mane.

Luna.

“Hi, Luna.”  He rubbed at the back of his head, letting out a relieved sigh. “You startled me.” 

“Hmm-m.” The girl hummed. “Now it misses a vital amount of Dabberblimps that called it home. They’re useful, you know. Pity there aren’t any here.”

Harry kept quiet, trying not to look too obviously confused.

Luna didn’t say anything for a bit, staring at something just over his shoulder. “Dabberblimps like to stay in gloomy places and flock to those with equally dark thoughts. Really nifty, daddy and I recon. But they’re so shy, they always flee when a bigger, _badder_ creature comes about.”

She put a finger to her lips. “Though they never did quite like professor Snape, somehow. Though I did see quite a few around professor Moody sometimes. I wonder why …”

Running a nervous hand through his hair, Harry watched Luna wander off again. She crouched down to run her finger against a mossy patch of grass some feet away, whistling a jaunty tune.

* * *

Viktor handed Cedric the omniculars with a solemn air that had become as familiar to him as his own dad’s prideful boasts, his mom’s hugs. The older boy scurried down the wooden ladder with a grace that belied his hulking posture, off to the bushy haired figure waiting in the shadows at the treeline.

The ocean in front of him was empty. The only motion came from the waves themselves, topped with frothy crowns.

His group of fishermen sometimes walked up out of the water, bubbles covering the front of their heads and carefully woven nets filled with madly trashing fish in their hands. The ones in the pool were too small still, but the bounty of the sea was plentiful as it had been since the first day.

One of the boys on the beach raised a hand, Cedric waved back. He settled back against the wooden wall of the pseudo watch tower, grateful for that the conjured loveseat hadn’t vanished yet. He cast his eyes back on water, watching, weary.

His hour passed without news, as Viktor’s had. And Genevieve’s before him, and Carl’s before her. Cho was waiting for him when he got down, smelling like fried fish and something smoky. Dinner. He kissed her nevertheless and watched her climb up. Once she sat, he took his wand and aimed at the slowly darkening sky. Green sparks shot up, bright as stars, and he watched them until they faded.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's alive?
> 
> Hogs --> slang for hogwarts students  
> Fransozen --> Dutch term used to refer to French people.
> 
> Edit: guess who just found out someone posted MY WORK on FF.net without permission? I'm really not amused and have messaged the 'author' to hopefully get this point across. Don't steal other people's work, it's plain rude EVEN if you say 'it's not yours'.


End file.
